Hard blues
Morning light, sand in the swelling tide,
Salt lids.
Heat beads mark your
skin, snail-like they slide down the sides of your face.
Hard blues in the
sky.
Paint blisters and
peels, the iron railings are weathered, encrusted.
Layers of rust and
tricoloured paint, red and green and black.
The traffic’s
banked up, Sydney road under hard blues
the bitumen melts a
little; coffee grind
slow drip into a
cup.
The heat punch hits
as you slip into your own humid shell
remember, Weedy
Sea Dragons
use long snouts to
suck prey into their mouths.
and who, given the opportunity, could honestly say they wouldn't do the same?
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